


Tenta Into (Title Still Pending)

by PRabbit



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 18:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRabbit/pseuds/PRabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RED Sniper comes across a Spy while fishing and discovers it is far more than a simple S.py</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Winter melted away to Spring, and on to another stifling year at the base. Though insanity clung inside each of the mercenary’s skulls, the heat this time of year drove out the worst depravity and violence yet witnessed by man. Blood feuds that once ended with a quick domination dragged on, victims trapped in an old shed screaming for hours with every ear turned away with a grin. Copious blood trails from behind the Medic’s doors did not even warrant a concerned glance. Some nights, the Soldier or Demoman would return late with blood staining near every part of their uniforms. People went missing; teammates, rivals, friends.

“Bloody piker.”

A jet of red gushed out to splatter a corner at the speed of a bullet, before its owner fled the scene. On the wall just behind a bright yellow helmet, a jagged hole held what was left of the shot, kinetics and all. Muscles on the Sniper’s arm tensed and his teeth ground as he cursed his miserable luck.

“Lucky rotten book smarts.”

Clenching a spare bullet between his teeth as he fluidly loaded a fresh one, his lips cracked a grin. Through his scope the Sniper followed the movement of that helmet, eager to blow it wide open, as he watched it exit a building. Teeth shone, the same smile a wolf uses to threaten and intimidate before a deadly strike.

“Let’s see yah worm outta this one, wanker.”

From below the Medic heard the cry of the gun firing, and an instant later its target granting the last of his lung supply to a stunted scream. Dust clouded around him; the Medic halted in his tracks, knowing just who had died. With a scowl, his intense eyes glared up to find the Sniper chuckling at his nest and reloading.

“You ignorant Schweinhund!”

From his window, the Sniper glanced down at the unmistakable shrillness of his team doctor. Gun still in hand, he furrowed his brow, waiting for a long rant.

“Zhat vas my target! I told you all to leave zhat Engineer alone! Can you not listen to orders for one battle?”

Each word came out louder than the next, in the same high pitched whine the doctor seemed fond of utilizing. Shaking his head, the Sniper turned back to the battle but was immediately scolded.

“Are you listening to me? I can come up zhere and use you as replacement! So do not jus—”

“Oi, come on doc!”

From above the Australian shouted his own reply, not waiting for the fuming man to finish.

“He was the last of them down there. We’re gonna win. Then yah can get all th’ bloomin body parts yah need, yah old windbag!”

Since he had first arrived at the base, the Medic had picked a fight with everyone. Demands, insults and condescending advice comprised most of what poured from his mouth. Ironically, half the time he wanted to be left alone in his lab tinkering at horrors no one else wished to think about, let alone guess. He kept to himself and so did the others, unless they were unfortunate enough to have to stay in the medical ward through the night. Many a good member was lost in those bloodstained, stainless steel confines.

“He vas not for body parts. I vanted zhat man alive.”

His first two sentences mumbled out but he continued in his normal screaming voice, much to the dismay of his teammate.

“You hear me, dummkopf! Alive! One small request vas all I wanted! Guess it was too hard to get zhrough your zhick skull!”

Not willing to continue this shouting match in the middle of battle, the Sniper scoffed and returned to searching for the perfect shot. He could still hear the stark lamentations of his team mate squawking below. Unfortunately for him, the fighting had shifted far beyond his ability to see. With a grumble, he gathered what few items he had and made his way to a new nest. This was unneeded, for as soon as he had one foot on the stairs, he met the angered frown of the medic. The victory signal rang shortly after that.

Patting his disgruntled teammate on the back as he passed, the Sniper spat out a line in his low voice attempting to cut to the bone.

“Gotta calm down there doctor. Or yer gonna end up injured and hopeless one o’ these days. And mark me words: no one’s gonna come tah help.”

\------------

In the back of his mind, the Sniper knew the Medic would not perform whatever unholy activities he did to the other team or even his mates. While not friends, the Medic needed the Sniper, and it was that small lifeline that probably kept him alive. At least that is what he thought and hoped. Some fellow mercenaries managed to slip themselves into the network, making themselves indispensable for a time.

Hanging up some of his laundry to dry, the Sniper let out a sigh. The bloody tracking. That what was why the Medic seemed so keen to let him live. He remembered the first time the doctor had asked, nervous yet ecstatic at his acceptance. He had hunted and captured countless animals since then, as the team had travelled. Jackrabbits, coyotes, bears, various birds, snakes, and the most peculiar of sea creatures. Another sigh. Being forced to work with such mercenaries left him on edge. Five months in isolation he could handle, the battles he could easily cope with, it was the constant arguing, scheming and distrust permeating the base that stressed the Australian out.

He planned out the rest of his day in his head. Each step he had taken before and relished every moment. Finally a time to relax. A camper van waited for him near the workshop the Engineers worked at. Due to it being dinner time, it sat quiet in the afternoon sun. The Sniper slipped away, driving several miles into the cruel desert. Rock formations cluttered the pristine horizon, some rising several dozen feet. It remained a place untouched by their war, yet useless to all but the animals that clung there.

Following the river led one to dry oases and twisted trees begging for rain. Along this line of cracked earth a small valley carved into the ground with rocks rising as if to clutch at the precious plot of shaded land. The Sniper parked under the largest one and stepped out, stretching out in the clear air. 

Hidden among rises in the land and twisted boulders, the ground opened up to jagged caverns that crawled deep. Most would allow only a lizard through or a very desperate rodent. However a few gaped wide enough, just enough for a human to enter. The Sniper did just that, after retrieving some equipment from his van.

Down and down he climbed as the ground became damper. Rivers flowed here to join groundwater and rain, granting a cool paradise of caverns and pools for someone stuck working in the heat. This place would crush the blood out of any novice, twists and turns with slippery footing and sharp rocks waiting for the warm embrace of flesh.

Navigating through the passages, the Sniper arrived at his favorite spot. A flat plot of land stretched out before a deep pool that disappeared into the darkness. Despite the deep shadows, the Sniper sauntered over to the shore and unfolded the chair he brought. Fishing gear and a six-pack of beer followed. With a smile he settled in, long legs stretching out as he prepared his line for a cast.

A soft splash. Winding the reel, he reached for a beer and the promise of a soft evening alone. Sure the place was dreary, a loathsome confine to spend one’s free time in. But he found this to be the only place he could enjoy. As a boy and even later in his life, fishing had always calmed his nerves. Not much fun doing a hobby amid squawking teammates and a desert wasteland provided none too many spots to kick back.

“Well hello there little guy.”

From the cracked wall a lizard skittered toward the cave’s guest, tongue flicking and head turning side to side. It scurried up to the Sniper’s pile of equipment with an investigative air. A hand reached down.

“Oh yer a big one!”

The lizard crawled onto the open hand. Having never seen a human in this dim cave, it showed little fear. That or the creature knew the Australian meant no harm. As he stroked the reptile his line twitched.

“Oy! That sure was quick.”

Reeling in, the Sniper watched the line sway until the end broke the surface. A small, silver scaled fish flailed at the end, not at all enjoying the fresh air. With a gentle touch, he unhooked it and released it back into the water, wiping his hand off on his pants. The lizard clawed up to the shore, watching the ripples in the water.

“Sorry mate. Maybe when Oi catch a better one.”

Halfway through the evening, the fish disappeared all together. A deep collection of water, there was never a time where there was no fish. Even if they refused to bite he could feel the faint vibration on the line as they swam by. Once in a while he did feel a tug, a different sensation racking the hook around, full of more power than any fish he had managed to catch in the caves. But it soon disappeared. Frustrated he stood up to peer into the depths. No fish, no crawdads, nothing. Using the small lamp he brought, the Sniper could see the bottom if only for a few meters before it plunged too low to even swim to.

With night drawing close he packed up and headed home. Sleeping far away from any of his backstabbing teammates allowed for much calmer dreams. Stripping, he wrapped the covers around his naked form and nuzzled into the pillow. His cot sagged slightly under his weight and he rolled on his back, scratching his chest. In the back of his mind he knew he’d be returning the next night and that made rest all the better.


	2. Chapter 2

Lazy currents crossed amid swirling darkness. Each inch lower wrung even more light from dark waters. Only a few lucky creatures were blessed with the equipment to navigate the twisting tunnels far underground. A set of glowing eyes cast their faint light on a patch of aquatic plant life. All around dark shapes coiled, investigating every contour of the nearby wall. Fish darted by, their electrical signals prompting the writhing shadows to lash out. As the group fled, one remained behind, trapped within the hungry might of multiple black silhouettes.

Muffled under several meters of water, a crunch severed bone from bone, chewing the tender flesh of a freshly caught fish. The slitted eyes turned, ignoring the bits of gore drifting about. The entire black mass glided through the water toward the far wall. Unlike a flailing human or a bathing animal the figure moved as if it commanded the water for its own terrible ends. Arriving at its destination a hand extended, human in shape only. Long black nails caressed the plant specimen in front of it then collected the organism with a gentle air, careful not to tear even a membrane.

In another submerged cavern a thin ray of golden sun shimmered through the clutches of a deep pool, only to be swallowed by the darkness it tried to fight. Regardless, its grace danced in the calm waters, shape flitting as drops splashed from above. Under the surface all appeared normal. Simply a dreary, wet cavern lost under the surface of a cracked desert. A solitary charm of multicolored glass and metal hung in the welcoming light. Its presence refracted skittering shapes of color and light through both water and still air alike.

Breaking the surface, a dark blue appendage slithered much like the animal it resembled. More joined it, leaving a slick trail as they exited the water. Feeling the cool ground under his suckers, the owner of the tentacles poked up for a survey of his home. Inhuman eyes glowed a dull green rose along with the rest of his body. Inside, emotions churned behind slit pupils as they scanned the empty cavern. With noted difficulty compared to his performance in the water, the figure pulled himself onto land, all eight tentacles aiding in his effort with terrible power.

A face of a spy with the mask, the suit down to the tie neatly tucked away. The man arched his back and stretched in the fresh air. Below where his jacket would have covered a waistband, normal skin tone did not so much melt away but was invaded by mottled blue and grey that peppered up to his naval. Lower this point his flesh took on a different texture: that of slick rubber, sensitive to all touch, temperatures, and tastes. Extra limbs curled amid rocks and bones, as a dark clawed hand sunk into the moist earth.

In silence the man collected a fist full of mud, inspecting the contents. Eyes growing distant, he frowned and looked down at his curious tentacles prodding cracks and pebbles. Unwanted, the entire half of his stinking body twisted his gut or what remained of it. Every surface he could feel, taste, a sensation purer than his lost faculties. Shaking the feeling he crawled back to let the soothing caress of the water clear his head.

Several caves branched off from the main chamber which only he had seen the bottom of. Tentacles trailing behind him, he darted with the same amount of lax effort to a thin opening and squeezed through. Though pitch black his vision peeled back the black curtains and serenity settled on his forlorn face. Inquisitive appendages greeted the soft touch of old friends. With the plant clutched gently in his fingers he let his body sink to the bottom.

All around, green, gray and pale blue swayed along with the current his tentacles created. From every hidden recess of this labyrinth he explored, plucked up each plant, lichen and moss he could find. All different, they reminded him of his garden back home, fanning out in dispersed yet neat circles, climbing up the walls. The challenge had been to learn how to maintain an aquatic garden, but he had all the time in the world. Combining the mud and a spot he had picked out, he planted his new guest in its home. Just enough light reflecting from his charm outside to feed these already darkness dwelling specimens. Hardy and still surviving, the Spy admired his roommates before turning to leave.

Seeing the ray of sun nearly faded he grinned. Boredom remained his greatest antagonist and at this time of day he’d be idly wandering through the water, trying to keep his thoughts from getting the better of him. However in these recent months, a visitor graced his lair. Not the usual sort that caused his fangs to bare and his stomach to growl but a neutral party, privy neither to his presence or the tragedy that had festered in the nearest base.

His form slinked through another opening much faster than his previous pace. In a pool easily accessible from the surface a faint splash caught his ear. Tentacles coiled in response to the caused ripples. Right on schedule. Hovering in the depths the Spy watched a hook with a still squirming worm descend then halt. His very presence denied any decent catches. After all a monster had to eat. A few small fish darted about, wary of his presence yet interested in the juicy lure. With a smile the Spy circled around the show with a lazy stride. One swam by taking a nibble. The line wavered every so slightly.

In his mind the Spy saw all the motions before they happened. 

He’s going to jig next and lower the height.

Sure enough the line swayed from side to side before dipping. The fish returned, enchanted and hungry, and took a large bite. The pointed, curved end of the hook impaled the tiny thing, hoisting its still twitching body. Tail flailing, the lure and its catch broke the surface of the water, joined by a happy chuckle from the Sniper.

Now throw the fish back.

Through the water the Spy heard a rattle as skilled fingers unhooked the fish. A folding chair squeaked and a wavering figure leaned over the water. Releasing small waves, the Sniper submerged his cupped hands and released his catch. For a moment the creature watching sighed, able to glimpse a sight of his guest’s flesh without the churning lens of liquid. Contained in water each electrical signal from the nerves reached the Spy. More small fish shot by, ignorant of the isolation emanating from the other soul in the pool.

Sit down and open a new beer.

Tentacles reached up toward the surface only to fall back, extending their full length in a lust to feel and grasp. The crack of a metal cap being dislodged from a glass bottle echoed in the walls above. Soon after the Sniper returned to his chair. Another line was prepared after a large quaff and a stifled belch. Lower and lower the new lure drifted, until floating just in front of the Spy’s watchful stare. Oblivious the little fish returned to nipping at the worm. The same process repeated, a small mouth latching on to a hook only to slowly rise. 

Slit pupils followed the set up. Lips parted to allow sharp teeth to peek through. Reaching up to Spy snatched the line just above the wriggling fish and gave a light tug. With a jolt the reeling in stopped. During the pause, eager tentacles reached up, suckers extended, and tore the fish off, coveting the still living flesh for their owner. The now bare hook was allowed to return as the Spy swallowed the tiny morsel.

Don’t be too angry, bushman. Plenty more where that came from.

From his underwater perch he could see the tall man pace back and forth, glaring into the water. Whatever happened to be down there would make a wonderful catch, no? At length he watched the Sniper pack up and head out, enjoying every last moment. He could hear beer bottles, fishing poles and a tackle box as well as a pillow. Once the din had faded the Spy drifted to the surface to poke his head out. A single bottle sat forlorn in the corner. Dripping, a lone tentacle stretched out and coiled around the still cold glass.

If he knew what was lurking here, he’d never come back.


	3. Chapter 3

Not many fish lay on his plate today. At best, the Sniper had caught one as big as his palm and two half that size. Not that it mattered, his aim had never been a bountiful meal. Any other night he would have inhaled his food, for nothing of this sort was ever offered at the base - a nice pile of steamed peas with some freshly caught fish. Yet the man sat at his small table staring out the narrow window on the far side. Curtains remained open letting in moonlight and what ever the stars could give.

A shape. He had seen a shape. Plenty of things swimming in the water. That he knew. What he didn’t know is why something that big was living there. His mind wavered between simply dispelling the issue as a trick of the eye, or having something to worry about. A croc maybe? Naaaah. A big bloke like that would never leave such a wide silhouette in the water. The form spread out and had different tails trailing off it. Thin at the one end, leading down to a ball of movement.

Kinda like a squid.

He sipped his coffee without realizing he had. He didn’t even taste it. Instead he imagined how on earth a squid that large had gotten into the caves. In all of his years, he couldn’t think of a scenario unless someone dumped it there. Or the bloody thing walked. A fork held a nice chunk of fish but remained on the plate. Something of this nature pricked the poor Australian’s fancy. Curiosity more than fear racked his brain. He could catch it, see what it was. Maybe discover a new specie. After all those caves were cut off from other sources of water; at least one that a large animal could manage. The shape he remembered did not look like a normal squid. Too thick, too odd. And he wanted to know just what was stealing catches right off his line. That settled it. He began eating, excited orrow.

The sun caused the small compartment he called home to light up. Each ray poked in a bit deeper, until a solid rectangle shone on the opposite wall. He woke early, cleaned up and set off. Same equipment, different mindset. Arriving at the pool he set up as normal but now stood, watching the water as he fished. After a few paltry bites he wondered how long he’d have to wait. His profession not only demanded patience, it required it. He settled in his chair, hands steady on his fishing rod, as he waited for the tell tale nibble and pull.

Hours passed. Every new fish he let go in hopes the numbers would attract the beast. Even in his quest he relaxed, posture slouching and mind wandering over future, past and present. The caves here he knew were carved from flowing ground water. This pool had several companions, no doubt connected via tunnels and cracks. This made sitting in one spot a gamble at best. With the day half over and not one sign of his quarry, the Sniper decided to utilize his next idea.

Rising from his chair he pulled off his shirt, scratching the now exposed chest. Next went his boots and socks. Lean features gave more resolve to those who faced him. They soon found themselves gutted and defeated. While not a hul  
king brute, he had more than enough power and a trained eye would take notice his toned muscles. Each article of clothing was folded and set in the bag he had brought. His pants came last, leaving him near naked, save for a pair of boxers checkered with the Australian flag. After a stretch he neared the edge of the pool once more.

The kukri he gripped in a free hand felt closer than ever before. A gun would be useless down here, and even so he did not want to harm the creature if he could avoid it. Still his focus tensed at the realization that he was now the largest prey in the water. Undisturbed by the sand and dust above, the water clarity hung between bearable and transparent. He made his way to the wall on the far side of his fishing spot. Using his legs, a large gap in the wall could be felt, wide enough to fit more than just his shoulders. Clicking on his torch he made sure the thing still functioned under water. At first he dove under to check if the next air pocket allowed for a decent trip. Luck provided him with the end only a few dozen meters away. He took a deep breath and swam through the naturally formed tunnel.

A few plants dotted the bottom along with loose, fine silt. The Sniper gripped the wall as he neared the surface. After years of lying untouched, the rock felt smooth from gradual currents yet varied enough for any manner of small creatures to hide in. Head breaching he refilled his lungs. His eyes followed every detail the beam from his flashlight uncovered. This cave climbed up into a forest of stalactites that dripped into a shallow pool. However light soon betrayed the water’s secrets. Just under the surface, many tunnels carved through the earth leading to many different parts of the network.

No way the beast could have simply swam into his pond. Puzzled, the Sniper climbed out and shook off as best he could. The rocks here already held a dampness; nothing his splashing would hurt. He stepped on his first clue. The bones of a fish. Quite a decently sized one too. A few more littered the ground, but other than that the evidence remained inconclusive. Maybe it was a croc. A croc who picked the flesh off of fish. Right..

He wandered around, finding passage after passage in this spider web of a cavern. To wanting to lose his way he marked one with his blade and then a rock to point to where he had emerged from the water. This corridor jutted upward into the darkness, a long triangle with the base under the Sniper’s feet. Broken rocks collected on the floor despite the small grade. He moved slowly so his bare heels did not shed a drop of blood. Hoping this path would connect to another pool, he pressed on. His flashlight caught a chilling shape on the left wall. A long trail of four lines had been carved through solid stone, their jagged depths scrawling out for meters. 

Fascinated he traced the gashes, contemplating the weapon or animal that could have made them. Letting his eyes drift from his steps, his next one rolled with the rock it dislodged, sending his lower body sliding down the now increasing slope, along with the rest. In a panic he reached out to grab something, anything to slow his tumbling. With a crack his back and head slammed against a sudden low-hanging part of the ceiling and he found himself falling faster. The impact disorientated the poor man and he rolled, at one moment not knowing which way was up or down. Loose pebbles and rocks followed along with him and reminded him of his folly after he stopped, falling onto his back.

Limbs sore, he lay on his stomach, air knocked from his lungs. From the spiking pain all around he figured he had just suffered a surplus of burns and scrapes. Muscles moved when he commanded; nothing broken. After a grumble he opened his eyes. The torch lay flickering at his side. Its failing light reflected off a piece of glass. Clarity returning he reached out. His own beer bottle now sat between closing fingers. He blinked.

“Wot?”

From his side he heard a splash. A large displacement of water rivaling anything a fish could every dream of accomplishing. Instinct more than coherent thought drove his hand to his kukri. He rolled on his back and sat up. The creature crawled on the wet ground more than walking. An intense glare shone on its face, with eyes casting a faint glow in their anger. Claws racked the floor as it growled an inhuman hiss, related to no other type of animal. An army and coiling, lashing tentacles writhed behind, which aided the monster in an unnatural flight toward the Sniper. He felt his body slammed into the wall, limbs bound by sticky, wet confines of suckers and flesh. One tentacle wrapped around his neck stealing breath, while another blinded his sight.

Another long hiss. He could smell the warm stink of its teeth, sharp and many. The claws now gripped his arms and chest, grinding them into the ground. Any attempt to thrash out was met with more tentacles, until every inch of his body felt cold, hard muscle constricting all movement. He felt helpless and terror-struck. If in the outback he would never had startled some beast on accident, and even so his mind would find a way out. Play dead, let the animal sniff and be off, offer food or accept the territorial threat display. All confidence flew out the window when he saw the thing he had been looking for. Even with his vision stifled he could still see the image in his head. A blue suit with tie and a mask covered most of its face; it looked like a Spy. A Spy from the waist up.

All of his churning confusion swelled to the Sniper’s throat. His mouth opened, wanting to express some form of emotion. He managed a gasp and a cry, half a word cracked through his constrained neck.

“Who--”

In the same instant the sound waves escaped, a horribly slimy sensation filled his gapping lips. Suckers slithered in between his tongue and teeth, resonating with the ones crushing the air from his lungs. He nearly choked from the invasion, tasting fish and salt as water dripped down his throat. Instinct shouted to bite down, sever the nasty things and stop the urge to retch. His jaw never got the chance to snap down. Two tentacles exerted opposite force, keeping his mouth open for others to violate. He twitched in disgust, only to feel suction cups dig into to any exposed skin, pinching nerves and blood vessels alike. As if covered in a hundred hungry snakes he felt tentacles slither and coil tighter, all the while starving the will to escape from his limbs.

Who would hear him so far from the base and so deep underground? His muffled yells and coughs impressed no one, certainly not the thing compressing his torso. He waited, accepting his fate and the foolish mistake to even consider coming down here. At least he wouldn’t die in some bloody teleporting accident. Still, he cursed in his head knowing it was to be a Spy that did him in. At least something with the appearance of one. All coherent thought wrung from his mind as muscles constricted all along his body, to the symphony of low growls. He felt the snarl in his ears, deep yet dripping with fear and rage and the countless victims its owner had pulled under the water.

Under the curtain of hisses, a new sound found its way to the Sniper’s ear: metal grinding against stone. The scraping started in short, slow bursts then accelerating with a clang on a rock. From under the sticky hold of his blind fold his eyes shut harder at the sickening realization. When the sound faded, he knew the creature now held it in its claws. As if it needed a weapon. He hoped for a brief distraction to fight back but the tentacles only coiled harder. A cold sensation pricked his neck and he tensed, expecting the blade to gut him through. But the feeling slid up to his chin and cheek, a soft, wet lingering as it trailed back down.

Tentacles wrapped around nearly every inch of his body, and the monster touched his face with those claws. At first he jerked away as much as he could, then gave in with no place to retreat. As the digits left his skin he felt a kiss of a long, sharp nails. This time the bonds tightened in a different way. He twisted as they forced themselves between his legs, moaning from the sudden rush of attention down stairs. In response, the creature did not snarl, it gave a quiet hiss as it exhaled, warm breath licking every patch of exposed skin.

Fear of a different kind welled up inside the Sniper. In any other situation he’d have been killed already, or at least very near the end of his mortal coil. The blinding that had once been a blessing was now a curse, and he wished he could see just what was lingering over him. His curiosity rattled and shattered on the cave floor, for a powerful force pulled him the short distance to the water. Not even given time to breathe, he bid farewell to oxygen as his body rushed through the water with the aid of his most gracious host. Right before he gave in to the lust to breathe, he felt the surface of a pool break and cool, moist air gladly filling his lungs as the gag in his mouth left. There they stayed, tentacles less crushing but still controlling every move.

After a few good lungfuls he tried to speak, only to feel the tentacles swarm over his mouth again. They dove and swam father and faster. Turned around from the fall, the Sniper scarcely held a clue in which direction he was being kidnapped. A wall contacted his side and at one point his feet dragged on loose silt. At last he tasted air again, gasping and coughing from the ordeal of being dragged blind and bound through unknown waters. As he lay recovering, he felt tentacles release and slither off. Eyes cracked opened to catch a glimpse of a pain filled glare. Then a movement, deadly fast toward his head with the shine of steel.

A clang, sharp and loud, turned his vision black again. He flinched, frozen at the anticipation of agony, blood and dizzying darkness. Silence fell. Feeling no impalement he risked another look. The handle of his kukri sat jutting out of a rock, so close to his head that a few dark brown hairs lay severed near the blade. Such a force to have driven it so far into solid stone. Jerking, he sat up, looking all around. Nothing. Only the calm dripping from above. And to his left was his chair, his bag and his fishing gear just as he had left them.


	4. Chapter 4

Always they came. Sometimes at night, others during the day. Stumbling, probing, defiling. Chemicals were tossed into the water, trip wires and traps set up, passages marked with signs. At first he hid. Always hiding. Always waiting. Despite crude diving gear, none dared venture into the dark, winding tunnels; barely large enough for a child, let alone an adult. Each crack and hole he knew. So many hours he had spent visiting each, memorizing shortcuts and chambers where fish gathered. He would chuckle when returning to the surface, only to find out they had came and left with out even him noticing. Still the fear of being taken back; the sounds, the smell, the glint of sharpened metal and cruel eyes all tortured his dreams. 

All that was years ago. Nails long ripped out of walls, bodies long decomposed or stripped to the bones and facts distorted into faint whispers of monsters. Loneliness became an understatement. Soaking in his scant patch of sun, the Spy stretched his arms out, letting his claws gather dirt under palms. Tentacles flitted lazily in the water just a meter away. The colors of his glass charm bounced off his hands, causing a minute smile to crack. Rolling on his back he watched the last rays wane as the world turned. 

He saw you. He looked right at you. Horror in his face. Disgust. In an attempt to bore the images out of his mind he slashed at the air, tentacles rising then slapping the surface of the water. He returned to his belly. What were you expecting? A charming conversation and a walk? Just swim up like a mermaid and compliment his fishing? A hiss. A small roach crawled up to his claws, having flown to the tiny island. He watched as antennae twitched then tickled the webbing between his fingers. The small creature skittered onto the back of his hand and halted, enjoying the warmth.

After a shake, he shooed it away to fly toward the only hole leading to the sky. Footsteps in the dark. Hands on his throat and shoulders. Shouting ringing in his ears still dripping. A flash of steel. A simple prick of the skin and all fell dark. And all remained dark. He slithered from his perch back into the dim depths to curl up in a secluded crack.

\---

“And the shipment ain’t comin’ till next week. I tell yah, they leave us high and dry out here.”

He sipped his beer with an idle disposition. Eyes and ears and posture appeared to give quarter to the Engineer but flew elsewhere. He took a small forkful of the food on his plate.

“Fixed the pipes in the bathroom, though.”

Concentration could only focus on images he himself doubted. The mind was a fickle thing, reliant up to the point of pure necessity. That was when memory blurs and second guesses turned into dozens of theories. His gaze shifted to just beside his friend.

“Uhhh, you feelin’ alright there?”

Distant eyes regained composure as the Sniper sat up, his height dwarfing the slouching Texan. The sudden return to reality made him blunder.

“Oh uh. Well. Just tired Oi guess.”

Awkward silence. Hands fidgeted between long legs. They normally ate dinner together on the roof of the living quarters. The setting sun and calm breeze helped ease the two mercenaries into relaxation, but not tonight. 

“Glad yeh fixed the bloody toilets though. Good on yeh mate.”

He lifted a hand to scratch his sideburns. Fingers touched a noticeable dent where hair had once been. At once the thoughts returned; dark and wet with fangs. The Engineer gave him a hard stare.

“Yeah. At least somethin’ works ‘round here now. Can’t say much for the food though.”

After a hearty laugh he set his plate down, leaving half of his meal to the trash. The Sniper had no need to cover up his complete lack of appetite. Food seemed like a distant need, and he played aimlessly with the mush in front of him before acknowledging the Engineer’s comment.

“Oi always wondered how someone could mess up macaroni and cheese so badly.”

His plate joined the other. Another short sip of the beer, more the action of bringing it to his lips and enjoying a draft. A slick, forceful grip on his body, artfully predicting his muscles and countering each struggle. He had no chance. Helpless against the rocks, blind and gagged. Yet here he sat.

“So did yah git tah try out that new reel I fixed up fer yah?”

Once again the Sniper had to pull him self out of the water. He leaned back and gave a sigh, buying time to recover with the lighting of a cigarette. After a long taste he answered. “Tried it out the other week. Noice and smooth. Sadly Oi don’t run into many big catches over there. Still, thanks mate.”

Holding out his hand, the Engineer asked for a cigarette of his own. As the Sniper ashed he lit his.

“Kinda surprised really. Both you goin’ down there and the lack of anything big.”

From under orange aviators, eyes turned. Claws, the reverberating sound of a hiss. He could still hear it. “Wot you mean? You know Oi go down there all the toime. To relax.”

A chuckle. “Yeah an’ yer the only one, partner. All them rumors and stories ‘bout something. A big black sea monster.”

Smoke trailed from the Sniper’s nose. Silly myths about his fishing spot never bothered him before. A Scout ranting about some big swamp thing, or a drunken Demo going on about people disappearing. He would have scoffed, patted his friend on the back and changed the subject. But now he was all ears.

“Oi’ve heard the stories. Jus’ means Oi get more alone time wot with no one wantin’ to go there.” He paused, using the drag of his cigarette to once more cover for his raging mind. “And it’s not loike anything’s happening to me.”

“Heh. Yeah. But you’ve had to have heard the last Medic go on about it. That doc was crazy, no doubt ‘bout that, but he did rustle up some volunteers to go look.” 

Crossing his legs, the Sniper waited for some form of useable information. “Yeah. And they’ve all been transferred.” 

The Engineer scratched the back of his neck. “I heard they died. Died there.”

“Ehhh--” 

“Don’t yah remember? That one Engineer comin’ back to base all bloody. His respawn chip removed from his brain. And the fellah died! Yah can’t deny that.” 

The Sniper blew a wavering plume of smoke from between his teeth that faded. He could almost see the humid cave ceilings. “Probably just the othah team, mate.”

Leaning forward, the Engineer gave him a stare down. “Now yah can’t tell me yah haven’t seen a thing?”

Another sigh. The Sniper sat up, returning eye contact over his shades. “Look mate. Oi jus go into one little cave. That place is bloody huge.” Maybe he could confide in his teammate. The idea crossed then disappeared, leaving a small memento that he held on to. “But Oi guess yah can say Oi’ve seen things.”

“Like what?”

“Well more loike heard. Odd scrapin’ and water splashing, when it shouldn’t. And there’s bullet holes round the place loike a fight went down.”

Having been already engrossed by the rumors, the Engineer looked like a kid at his birthday. Every work the Sniper said he ate up. “I knew somethin’ was goin’ on down thar. What did I tell yah!”

A hand cupped the Sniper’s face as he shook his head into his own palm. “Whoi do Oi even say anything to yeh.”

“So what do yah think it is? Some kinda serpent? Maybe a huge lizard er somethin’!”

The Sniper sighed again and fell back into his chair. He wished that was all it was. “Foine. Yah wanna know what Oi think it is? Will that get yah to talk about something else?”

An eager nod gave him his answer.

“Oi think it’s a Spoi. A no good, sneaky Spook doin’ something there.”

The image of the face over took his vision. A mask, a suit, wet yes but the same quality as any Spy would have. Even if he had just subconsciously completed the picture he had only glimpsed at for a second, the colors were undeniable. He had seen blue.

“An’ why do yah think that?”

To tell the truth would lead to raised eyebrows, first a few then the entire base. Questions would be asked, reasons and a medical exam. How could any one believe him? Besides he survived. No need to alarm any other hearts. “Just a feeling Oi got mate. Just a feeling.

The silence that followed sent a chill down the Australian’s spine. His aim was not to inform but now he felt as if he had said too much. He took a long swig of his beer and rose, stretching. ‘Welp. Oi’m gonna head back to moi camper. See if Oi can get some real food. See yeh around, mate.”

“Yup. See yah.”

He left without saying another word. Each set of stairs he trudged down was forgotten as he began to fall inside his thoughts again. One thing remained certain: he was lucky. Whatever he had encountered could kill a man, permanently. He did not know how, but he knew the rumors. Yet it had let him go. What bothered him more was that a wise man would run.

Not him. Having explored and tracked beasts and animals more wild than any thing here could hope to be, he had always respected and admired the power of nature. Though his head screamed that nature had nothing to do with the inhuman creature, his curiosity quipped back with a sneer. A monster, a thing with the face of a Spy lurking in the dark. Gentle enough to pick fish off his line, intelligent enough to wear clothes and pilfer his trash. Every step he thought of another reason, another unknown begging to be explored.

A crash, glass scattering on the ground. He had thrown his half empty beer in frustration. Bloody had to do it right mate? Just had to go and see. Now you can’t get it out of your head. His boots crunched over the sharps of his drink as he finished his descent. So much for a nice relaxing getaway.

That night after cleaning and tuning up his rifle and sharpening his kukri, he sat on his cot heavy with fatigue. His anger had since diminished, but a wisp of it spouted up here and there. Tingling gripped his legs, reminding him of being tangled in a flurry of tentacles. No other thought bothered him more, and for all the wrong reasons. He lay down vowing never to go looking for the thing as his hand slid down under the covers.


	5. Chapter 5

Weather broke over the rough area, thunder and hail reaching even the base. Sleeping became a chore if one lay staring up at their ceiling, cursing the small chunks of ice performing a drum solo above. Unless one could drive off and park under the ridge of a rock formation deep in the desert. Rain dripped down forming small streams that snaked into each cave mouth. The Sniper enjoyed sitting just inside, watching lightening dance across the sky. 

He had found himself accosted regularly by questions. Apparently his chat with the Engineer had spread. The last straw came when a Scout asked about the monster he saw. Rumors grew and he wanted no part in their development. The burning end of his cigarette let out a line of smoke that choked and dissipated on reaching the boundary of the rain. His battles went well, plenty of good shots to brag about. He smiled at the though of clipping both helmets with one shot, leaving them reeling, at the mercy of the rest of his team. Despite all the drama they all worked together. A nice side effect of the change in Medics.

No more whining or fear of entering the laboratory. Injuries were healed, sparing sanity for once. The bloke just had to get used to the manic behaviors of those he wished to keep alive. The Sniper crushed the corpse of his cigarette into the ash tray and chuckled. Watching the antics of the new doctor distracted him. At least that is what he told himself. Rising he entered his camper for another round of chores. The want to fish hung in the back of his head.

Sleeping came easier. This he was thankful for, but it was the reason that gave him chills. Nothing else seemed to work. He tried again and again using magazines and fantasies, but one always came back, laughing, mocking then coiling around his lust to wish him off to rest. A day and another passed. Lounging in his chair provided peace of mind as always but every ripple in the water set his nerves on edge. The second night left him sitting on his bed, head in hands. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a metal bucket.

Bloody hell.

Sometimes wildlife needed to be relocated. No one wants a twelve foot long croc sleeping in their garden. As a tracker his job had included the movement of beasts no one else felt brave enough to even throw things at. One element remained a staple in his arsenal: food. Want to draw out a critter? Bait it. Need it to stick around for research or a sketch? Leave a nice snack out. Picking up the pail, he slammed it down on the table with the rest of the fishing gear for tomorrow.

A calm dream. He awoke with the sensation of water still clinging to his skin. Hauling his stuff down the incline, he set up just as always. This time he sat and thought about his plan. The water-filled tunnel at the far end, the expansive caverns beyond. Each fish he caught he saved in the bucket, still twitching in about three inches of water. And always out the corner of his patient gaze, threatened the scar in the rock on the side of the pool. Deep and jagged, it had taken far too much of his own strength to free his kukri.

Even with a nearly full bucket he hesitated. Best let the mind rest overnight. No sign, no sound of the thing and for that he was glad. The fear had crossed his thought, the dangers of being caught off guard again. It was as if that wound in the rock marked the end of its territory. He stared out his small window ,watching the curtains waver in the light, cool breeze. Now he had a plan. Swim in, leave the offering and just wait. Watch. Something he excelled at. No guns, just his knife. It all seemed so simple, like luring out a snake.

His dreams asked why. His curiosity replied why not. This place felt like a second home away from the squalors and boredom of the base. He couldn’t help himself. In the morning he packed up, leaving fishing gear behind in favor of towels and his bait. With care he brought the bucket, now full with water, down the slope. Just as always the pool sat calm, patient. He set the pail down and removed his clothes.

Having been a hot day, the water felt wonderful. He eased in, keeping to the side for the closest foothold lay several feet below. Before entering he took the largest of his towels and wrapped the bucket up, to prevent any of the fish from escaping. The rest stayed behind. The Sniper lingered. Flashlight, knife, bait. Never before had he been so hesitant to start a job. Eyes adjusted to dark waters as he swam through the tunnel.

Blackness met him on the other side. He clicked on his flashlight and climbed out, keeping the pail steady. Nothing had changed. His light spread wide checking each corner before he relaxed. Any sound he heard locked his feet to the ground. Refusing to use the passage he took before the Sniper kept following the cave until it narrowed at the back. A sharp corner halted his progress. He stood staring at the narrow path leading to a dry entrance. Perfect for an ambush. His ankles would cross just inches from the water and who knows what lurked around the corner. Exhaling, he took the few steps and pressed himself against the wall, making sure the first ray of his torch illuminated the new passage.

Nothing. Only the ever-present drops of water splashing onto the floor. Pausing for a break he set the bucket down, the weight making his arm sour. While stretching a cold, wet tendril rubbed up against the bottom of his leg. Any Spy would have laughed at the sight of how high the Sniper leaped up, landing wrong and falling on his ass.

“Bloody wankah! Yah scared me half tah death!”

From his pleasant view on the ground he spotted the panicked scamper of a lizard fleeing from the scene of the crime. Of all the things to jump about, and he went full throttle on a little reptile. Rising to his feet he snorted, wiping the dust from himself. Luckily the bucket remained upright.

“Give you mates a little fish an’ this is the thanks Oi get.”

An echoing cry shivered through the cave causing his spine to do the same. The eerie din guttered low, as if drowned out by water. Or blood. Standing perfectly still he listened, fingers tightening around the hilt of his kukri. Silence. Just before risking a movement he heard it again, this time shorter, ending in a gurgle. From years of tracking, he knew it came from the next area and if not somewhere very close to that. Just ahead someone was in great agony. Or something.

Heart in his stomach he eased out of the corridor using the pads of his feet. Water trickled into various tunnels as a result of ample rain. The crevice expanded out to a larger room with a larger pool, similar to his in the middle. Darkness kept any other information hidden and he dare not shine his torch into every hole. Now fully in he looked about, watching, waiting for a sign to run or fight.

Luck kissed his feet. Only for his brain it screamed misfortune. On the wet rocks just near his toes lay a stain of blood still damp from the humidity. It trailed from a larger puddle whose edge peeked out of another crack in the wall. Thin and tall, this one led up to the unreachable ceiling. More red clung to the sides just before blackness swallowed the rest whole. It shimmered in the light, beckoning further investigation.

Muscles tense the Sniper stepped forward. Slowly the flashlight revealed more around the imposing frame of the corridor. More blood. Always flowing from somewhere further on. In the distance a dim outline halted his movement. A rock pile would not have that shape, long yet thicker in the middle, another shape sprawled out in front of it with five other shapes. A hand. Keeping his own limb steady the Sniper pointed his torch.

Slash marks and bites across bruised skin. Uniform fabric lay shredded. The unmistakable form of a helmet got him staring. A Soldier lay partially on his side, soaking in a puddle of his own fluids. Dead for a little less than half a day. It was not the wounds or the corpse that disturbed the man who had seen death, gore and suffering. It was the face. From above the lips, the entire flesh appeared to have been torn off, lying next to the broken American. Brains leaked out of what once had been a nose, leaving only the eyes the stare blindly. A hand rose to the Sniper’s mouth as he held back a retch.

The respawn device. A small chip implanted into the skull that burrowed deeper. Not even the most skilled Medic could remove it with out killing the patient. Thus the perfect defense against death in a war of sabotage, backstabbing and secrets. Without checking inside the head the Sniper knew. The chip had been removed. Someway, somehow it was gone. This Soldier would never breathe again.

Backing up out of human instinct his naked foot touched a slimy, soft object. Eyes flicking to their limit he let out a trembling breath. He could not turn fully around, only glance with his head. Another hand, cold fingers reaching out to his foot as if trying to pull their owner out of the depravity it now sat in. This time a Scout, lying collapsed on himself, the same injuries to his face. A small green and silver fragment lay inches from the hole in his skull, crushed into two pieces.

This had been a mistake. No bout of curiosity was worth this. He spun toward the exit, ready to flee back to his van and never come here again. His knuckles clung to the bucket as if it were an impenetrable shield. Just before making his first life saving step, he heard a hiss, causing all muscles in his body to seize. All expectations flew to being knocked to the ground, pinned and squeezed; this time with no mercy. A warning unheeded a threat ignored. He had brought this on himself. 

After three long minutes, he dared take a look. As soon as he began to shift, another hiss drowned out whatever sane thought he had left in his brain. Light reflecting off the rocks revealed another shape, this one a pile of writhing serpents, rising and falling with labored breaths. He brought the torch up. Fierce eyes glared back, growling threat along with teeth. Every fang dripped with blood – a deep purple; its own blood. The Sniper stood, finally getting what he wanted, a nice look at the creature. But now he felt he really didn’t want it.

“Hiisssssss-- ”

It supported itself on faltering arms, claws digging deep into the stone. Tentacles slithered around, twisting as if ready to lash out if the man came any closer to their master. Along the side of the cave it splayed, letting the water that had gathered there feed suffering limbs. A long tongue came out to lick blood from its lips, being sure that sharp teeth remained visible at all times. Remaining still, it glared daggers at the Sniper.

He stood still himself, not sure if moving would be the best course of action. The only option available was to look at the thing in front of him. A long trail of the same off-color blood snaked behind the beast, leading to a small, shallow pool of water. A rocket blast crater hung overhead with bullet holes framing the picture. Chatter at the base, the rumors the bounty offered. Men came and found what they were looking for. No questions asked just shots fired. He had done this. The pail fell to the ground with a clang prompting another snarl from the creature.

“Woah. Um.” His voice shook, leaving words broken. “Easy there.”

Without thinking he held a hand out as a gesture of peace. With a sharp flinch the Spy-like thing curled in on itself, expecting a gun. When none appeared, he rose again, a low growl in the bottom of its throat, letting the Sniper get a better look. What a wonder. It was a Spy, at least from the top up. Claws and fangs made this judgment questionable, but it wore the uniform of one, mask and gloves included. The faint glow from its eyes left him feeling uneasy, but all of his experience came flowing back. A wounded animal, a predator in pain; one of the worst things to come across. He took a few steps back, trying his best not to appear threatening. Knowing not how able the creature was, he thought not to test his luck.

“Oi’m not here to hurt yeh.” Avoiding eye contact he halted his retreat, hands out at a low angle from his body. “Heard a sound, and came to see.”

Scratching replied, claws on ground. He glanced up. The beast turned to the side and began to drag itself. On the other end sat a much larger body of water no doubt connected to others. Those screams moments before must have been the exertions of the wounded thing attempting to relocate to a true patch of liquid. He watched as it reached out shaking limb after shaking limb, tentacles aiding. After a few meters its head winched down letting out a stifled groan.

“Ah man, yer really hurt huh.” Not wanting it to die right after he finally got a nice look, the Sniper came closer.

“SSTOP!”

The screech rang in the dark, echoing through the chamber. Nearly stumbling back the Sniper’s eyes went wide, not trusting his ears that said he had heard an English word. A hiss and a cough left more blood on the rocks. Glaring back up, the creature bared its fangs.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!”

As if ashamed of the interaction, it folded in on itself and resumed its painful journey. Stunned, the Sniper found much difficulty in finding words for a response. All that screamed in his head over and over was “It can talk!” He took more steps closer when it halted again, trying to dispel the agony wracking its limbs.

“But yer hurt. Badly.” An idea. He grabbed it. “Oi have some food here! Fish. At least take that.”

“Zhis is no concern of yours. LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Each word came out as a yell mixed with a guttural hiss. With greater haste the Spy dragged itself to the edge, chest heaving between the dropping of blood. After one last glowing stare it fell into the water leaving only a ripple in its wake. Still drowned in disbelief the Sniper stood. He had spoken to it; he had seen it up close in the light. And now for all he knew it was floating to the bottom of the pool to die. A strange sorrow gripped his chest, as if a close pet had passed away. He fell to his knees, eyes tracing over the bloody trail.

There was nothing he could do. Frustrated he walked up to the edge of the water and shone the torch down. The ridge of the shore caved back inside itself into a small niche. On the edge he could see a faint outline of hovering tentacles that retracted at the light. Still alive.

A long sigh. To swim down and patch up its wounds would be suicide. He hadn’t the faintest idea how long this thing had lived down here, but hope came in the form of trust. Able to speak, the Sniper held on to the thought that it knew what it was doing. And if not he dare not impede on its wishes to die alone. He wanted to stand there and watch it all night.

Turning, he grabbed the bucket and set it down with a purposeful clang. A few small fish sank to the bottom. He left the pail lightly capped, seeing as how most of the critters had died due to lack of oxygen in a cramped container. Then he sat on the far side near the exit, watching the bait as it sat near the edge. An hour passed. Then another. Though sleepy and cold he remained. Movement tickled his vision. A lone tentacle slithered out from the depths and coiled around the handle, dragging the entire bucket under the surface. Still kicking. The Sniper grinned, knowing that at least for tonight the creature could function and eat. Finally giving it some space he headed back to his camper.


	6. Chapter 6

Torn flesh followed the flow of water, spiking pain up each nerve. Collecting in the small hole a cloud of blood lingered only to drift further away. In any other circumstance fish would be out in force, feeding, nipping, and letting the sweet taste of injury tickle their gills. But by now all had learned the scent of copper and iron mixed only led to a painful death. A curse depriving his weak body from a much needed meal.

Luck it seemed had been quite fickle today. As he took his first intake of refreshing water ,each wound swelled and screamed reminding him of the many ruptures both inside and out his broken flesh. Tentacles felt along the wall until reaching the bottom. To move forward remained the plan, but the excursions on the surface had left him near unconscious. It was only through the grace of his dexterous limbs that he found himself lying inside the shell of a small pocket carved out by currents long gone.

Now relatively safe, he tried to concentrate and rest, on mending. However instinct ticked like a bomb, yelling out the obvious. One still alive. He knows you are down here and he brought his knife again. Just one dive, a stab or a slash and he would have you. Focusing he tried preparing his tentacles that reacted with lazy coil. Footsteps echoed above their impact, vibrated the water straight down to the Spy in his hovel.

Waiting the Spy tried to keep his senses keen. He cursed himself for ever thinking of teasing the bushman. Now the hunter, the tracker, felt the urge to investigate. So careful he had been for almost a decade ,and now one foolish weakness was about to end him. Instead of a splash, he heard the sound of metal on rock. A gun? No he did not have one. More sounds, that of steps moving away. 

Weakness slowed his thought process. So slow in fact that his stomach unraveled the mystery before his brain did. After a grumble he remembered the silly bucket. Food. Why did he even come down here with food? No doubt a ploy to capture him. Still he had curled up in the other small pool for hours trying to build up enough strength to relocate. The loss of blood complicated things. Unless a foolish morsel drifted by he’d risk passing out without a meal in his gut and maybe even wake up worse off.

Never before had they caught him off guard. An ambush always prepared, he’d fly at intruders, ending their pathetic hunt quickly while suffering only minor injuries. Then after he’d coil up alone to heal never missing more than a day. He discovered that bullet wounds and gouges closed up, healing with not even a scar. But now he sat trembling in agony hissing through water at his mistake.

The weekend. He knew the Sniper had the time off. So when the familiar sound of footsteps echoed through the cavern, the Spy merely investigated. No fleeing, no hiding. All he could think of was the man’s face, his stride as he bumbled through the caves. Even the fear of being captured by the Australian faded. Maybe he could talk to him. Fool. Kick him out make him leave, do not let him see you. His self-preservation kicked in far too late. They caught him crawling over land and soon opened fire.

Attack failed, he fell limp to the ground. He let them draw close. After all, he knew they wanted him alive. Then came nearer, came to see the monster. With one tentacle he drove into the face of the Scout using his claws to hold him down. Countless times he had sought the small chunk of metal and plastic, that it was now second nature. With the brat now screaming on the floor, he had raked the tender back while shooting a glare at the Soldier. The first rocket decimated the wall, ending the Scout’s heartbeat. Clinging to the ceiling, the Spy waited for an opening. 

It never came. His blood betrayed him given the Soldier a clue through his thick helmet. The launcher aimed up and tore the suckers’ grip out from under them. Body thrown in the hard wall, the Spy looked up, blood puddling under him. Taunts, sneering at a lucky victory. He hissed, waiting for the brute to let his guard down. Vision wavered in and out. He struggled to dispel the images in his head. Locked in a cage, drugged, the cackle of his oppressor making his bones shudder. No. Not again. Rage flung his form at the Soldier. He barely had time to go for the chip, before blind hate took over. He slashed off skin, crushed joints and tore open the ribcage until all sound stopped. 

Once the adrenaline had left his muscles, the reality of the situation set in. He dragged his crushed body to the closest source of water and fainted. Nightmares tortured him. Lost in his memories, the Spy opened his eyes. A few hours had passed ,and yet he remained safe. Perhaps the Sniper had been too intimidated by his show on the surface to risk swimming down here. With renewed strength he rose to the surface. Wounds reopened and difficulty to move still plagued him. He thanked the water for supporting his weight.

Peeking out, he took in a breath of air. The dryness compared to his normal fair of liquid stung his chest. Just holding onto the ledge left him dizzy. Eyes focusing he spotted the Sniper huddled in the corner thinking himself unseen when his flashlight was turned off. The bucket loomed before him, offering the unrelenting odor of fish. Unable to resist he brought a tentacle up and pulled the package down with him as he returned.

He cared nothing about bones. His teeth could grind them to dust while his digestive system gurgled with happiness at any form of sustenance. . Soon the pail lay empty, and his thoughts returned to the Sniper. No traps around, no gun aimed at him when he popped up. Such a strange fellow. Despite the show of kindness, he wished to move on to a place the Sniper could not follow. Looking down at the bucket and towel he couldn’t help but grin. They trailed behind him as he drifted off, clutched by a pair of tentacles.

Back in his lair he sighed in relief. Finally a place to rest. Just that mild journey had made him weary, still wincing from pain. Each shuddering breath felt like his last, just as before. And just like all those years ago. In his weakness he curled up next to his glass trinkets and scraps of cloth. A spare suit sat folded in the depths next to various bones, jars and knives. The other guns he collected he had no use for, but he always enjoyed the simplicity and the deadliness of a good blade. Eyes closing he tried to ignore the pain he drew from every breath.

Needles driven in again and again. The warm embrace of the Medigun’s beam made a horror, associated not with relief but dissection. Endless dissection, additions, removals. He shook in a restless sleep. Nightmares would always come, but now in his state he could not fight them off. The throbbing and spikes through his body worked to bring him right back to that cold metal table under hot lights and cruel eyes. One night he had been denied water, food, all to persuade him to perform tricks.

“Let’s see how you valk on land.”

Exhausted he pulled himself around by his arms, before collapsing after just a few strides. Electricity coursed through his body, screaming the disappointment in his performance.

“Again!”

Trembling he resumed his dragging, making sure to keep away from the edge of the room lest he be shocked again. After what felt like an hour, he fell over unable to barely breathe let along move.

“Fascinating. Land movement seems to tire you out much faster.”

A paltry reward came in the form of a short hose off of water. His tentacles twitched from the life-giving dampness. Stomach growling, he hoped for food next. He almost forgot what it tasted like. Even if it was just the rotten scraps from the kitchen he’d eat it.

“Take him back to the table.”

Ungentle hands did not carry him, so much as dragged him like a sack of garbage. His dry, sore skin felt every crack on the floor, every bump. Without mercy they slammed his limp body onto the steel operating table. Restraints came next, tightened to their full allotment. 

“Please…”

One word cracked out between chapped lips. Always one word.

“The freak is talkin’ again.”

“Just shock it.”

This time the torturing voltage left his nerves seizuring. Every limb twitched until the doctor returned and injected him with some unknown liquid that burned through his veins. The drugs never gave him sleep, only an unnatural waking nightmares, aware of all pain. Yet unable to move, kept in a constant state of weakness and sedation.

“Maybe when you learn to behave, I vill feed you.”

Mercy became a fantasy, hope a flame blown out in the harsh wind. Yet one tiny flicker remained. Escape. 

Claws gripped the bucket as if at a stuffed toy, the lime green towel wrapped partially around it. The images returned, fitting in nicely with the pain. Jerking he’d opened his eyes wide expecting to see the laboratory, the tray holding medical tools and the pale light from the window. Just his chamber. He’d have to lie awake staring just to make sure. Then another attempt at sleep. Pleasant thoughts tried to be conjured, only to be struck down by the vision of that place. In the end he turned to stare at the ceiling, fear of closing his eyes in case his dreams became real. Tentacles curled up all around gripping the empty shell of his gif,t as well as his shaking arms and quivering lips.

One cannot see the tears of one who cries underwater.

Light filtering through the hole in the other cave danced as low as it could. He caught at it in his webbed fingers, before rising to feel its warmth. Still frail, he stayed in the sun watching the depths for breakfast. Wounds had closed up but remained puffed and raw. Ventures on land would have to be canceled for now. Spotting a shadow he dove down, snatching a wriggling, full-sized fish in his tentacles. Bringing it up to his awaiting fangs he embraced each juicy bite. Just the ability to feed himself made the terrors of last night fade.

With the taste of flesh on his tongue, he remembered the bounty of meat left rotting on the floor of the other chamber. Many times he had curled around a slain mercenary, anger and pain in his heart. Such a monster. Dining on his would-be trappers kept him strong for when the next wave decided to throw away their lives. Soon he found himself enjoying the taste, the rare opportunity. Now at the surface, he felt his mouth watering. It had been so long. His very first bite all those years ago left him sick knowing the source. But soon he embraced instinct. Everything denied to him everything taken away. The initial disgust melted into joy, something not felt in far too long.

The bodies decayed in the humid air but only as much as a night would allow. Insects of all sizes flocked to the still-fresh source of food along with lizards and small rodents. He had eaten worse. Being force-fed rotten slop from last week’s dinner or starving in a waterlogged cave. The different became a power long lost; choice. He reached out for a leg.

“Non.”

Shaking his head he halted. Food could wait and he did not feel too famished for the very same reason that was stopping him from eating now. The Sniper. He did not want to be a monster anymore. Tentacles first hoist his sore body onto the rocks, then the corpses into the water, one by one. Insects fled while fish swarmed. At least his stocks of precious fish would not go hungry. Returning to the pool, he found himself drifting toward the far tunnel. Better pay his guest a visit.

Information, the life blood of any Spy remained his lust. Why did the Sniper help him, or was it not help at all? The fish were not poisoned. He must have spent most of the day catching them. Why? How many others knew of his presence here? So odd to have no hunters, yet two show up, eager. In the passage just outside the one the Sniper fished at, he paused. He had seen him. And spoke of wanting to help. Pushing him away had been his only option, but the bushman had been lucky enough to meet him not once by twice. In his mind all had been spoiled already. Yet he swam to the bottom looking up from the depths to see a fishing rod hanging over dangling a long line ending in a hook.

Settling on the floor he allowed his tentacles to shift through the silt for tiny morsels. He ate idly watching a fish be caught but not released. Was that fool still catching food for him? Interesting. He sat filling the rest of his belly. Ideas crossed his head. Maybe just one appearance. Say thank you. Be the gentlemen you used to be. He rose, the slow pace reflecting his reluctance. Before popped up near the far side of the pool he heard a shout, one far harsher than that of the Sniper.

“Oh thank heavens! Yer alive!”

Jarred from a light doze the Sniper turned with a jolt. “Wot the bloody hell you doin here?”

Two men now near the edge of the water. The Spy fought the urge to flee, wanting to hear every word. With a quick dart he made his way to the other side, and pressed himself against the wall just under their feet.

“Well don’t that just beat it all! I drove all the way down here tah see if yer alright, and yah glare like that.”

An Engineer. One he had never heard before. Risking a glance, he saw them standing as friends, the Sniper patting the Texan on the back in apology. “Sorry, was just surproised to see yah here. What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you hear? The Soldier and Scout came down here on order of some place up North. Never came back.”

The Spy’s eyes narrowed. Place up North? Who else wanted him in a cage?

“Wot, that lab? An’ maybe they just ran off? Can’t really trust those two.”

“Nope. Not just missin’. Doc looked em up in the system. Not there.”

From under the veil of water the Spy could see the Sniper tense. From his face he knew he had noticed the removed chips. 

“Well don’t look at me. Oi just come here to fish!”

“Yah an’ that’s why I came tah check. Look buddy, yer down here all the time. Haven’t you seen or heard anything?”

Curling up the Spy prepared himself for an attack. He hoped none would be needed.

“Jus wot are you implyin’? Oi never even saw those blokes!”

“Yah. But yah said it was a Spah! An’ it lived in these here caves!”

Teeth bared at the expected betrayal. Take out the Engineer first - he still had his pistol. Then tackle the Sniper. Pain welled in his heart but he knew what he must do.

“You bloomin egg head! Oi said it MAY be a Spoi wot with all the secrecy an’ such. If Oi even saw somethin’ you’d be the first to hear!”

“But the othah day…”

“The other day you were goin all on about monsters and rumors an asked me wot Oi thought. An Oi said it probably was a no good Spoi! So jus’ calm down.”

“Right. Sorry bout that. Jus’ with the deaths an’ all I was worried.”

Heart pounding, the Spy sunk a bit, relieved. 

“Probably told the whole bloody base too. Make sure they know Oi’m, not down here with some Spoi alroight?”

“Ok ok.”

“Look at yah, sweating and outta breath. Oi’m fine ok? Been fishin’ here for a year now and the biggest thing Oi’ve seen is a lil lizard.”

“Now we got battle in the morning so let me be so Oi can relax.”

“But if you see anything?”

“First one to know.”

Boots clumped on the stone, as the Engineer returned to his truck. Waiting in silence just under the curved edge of the pool ,the Spy did not know what to feel. Genuine kindness. He tried not to let it break within him. To trust seemed like a luxury one in his position could not afford. Without wanting to, he recalled the pain. I will save you. Do not worry. Shackles locking onto his arms, pinching skin. A grin. The next set of kind eyes growing afraid then leaving. Every instance made him skin lower until one against tentacles dug through silt.

The lure twitched in the water as the Sniper sat back down, mumbling to himself. Several meters under the Spy burned in his loneliness. A beer cracked open. Tentacles coiling he simply sat and listened to every sound. Just as before when he did not know what he looked like, and fished in the calmness of the cave. An hour passed. Perhaps he could say hello. The man could be transferred, never to be seen again. Hovering closer to the surface he prepared for disappointment.

Head popping up, the Spy almost snickered at the sight before him. Breath had faded away into a light snore. The Sniper sat, legs fully out, with his head back, sleeping. Ah, what an adorable sight. Swimming closer the Spy brought his arms up and crossed them, supporting himself as he watched the man’s chest rise and fall. He longed to wrap himself around that man and hear him moan as he pleasured him. To feel each muscle under his suckers and taste his lips. He sighed. A tentacle reached up and wrapped around an ankle below the pants. Warm, soft, a light pulse. Feeling his lust push the limb higher he pulled back. You saw his face when he found you. Disappointment was the water he swam in.

Laying his head in his arms he stared far too long. A small wake dissipated as he left. A few minutes later his blue mask broke the surface. Claws gripped the edge and reached up. With a hollow clunk the pail nestled in right next to the chair, lime green towel wet but still folded on top. Satisfied, they returned to the water. Tentacles drifted lower, circling the fishing line until one coiled its tip around the unseen wire and gave it a tug.


	7. Chapter 7

Long nights. The blessing of having weeks on end off from his job had rotted into a curse. Not one for the company of drunks at a bar or his fellow teammates at the base his only option to relax remained tied to his van. Sure, he could drive all around, far out to some other place. But where? Another pitiful hick town? Some shrinking lake polluted and barren? A nice set of caverns with fresh water, curious fish and the promise of cool air under a clear, star filled sky. He had made it his home away from home, a place to pull the string now so far away of long night on the outback, even longer days and the complete isolation to muse, to relax. The lack of wild animals garnering for a piece of his flesh made the spot all the more dreamy.

Maybe he couldn’t escape it. He lay in his chair watching scant traces of water build up, joining together to form a little droplet that released from its rocky hold for new pastures. Each took their own amount of time to get fat enough to drop but they all did in the end. Spooks in the tunnels, spooks in the warehouse, spooks on the cat walks. Spooks in the water. Relaxation went to the wind. If it was a croc or a snake he’d simply relocate it. His understanding of animals stretched far, but not this far. Even as he set up his gear today he felt the tinge of doubt. Unfolding the chair, cracking open the cooler, stringing his pole; each step sending his worry deeper to articulate handfulls of horrors. Sub consciously his feet avoided the water’s edge while his brain shouted to look at the scar in the solid stone where his kukri had been driven into, deeper than he ever could.

So what. Bugger dumped me here. And here is as far as I’ll go. Not interested in outwitting simple fish he dozed off, the imagine of the beast coiled in upon itself, ready to strike, looking far less human than he thought. Had that monster held him down and dragged him under the water back here? Something that screaming with rage, the violence left splayed on the cave floor, his teammates dead. He should kill it. Lug its body up north to that strange Medic’s new place. Nightmares of that thing reeling up to strike, his own limbs stuck and helpless. In his light slumber he shifted. Hunt it down, shoot its brains out. Why not? Then the creature, now on top, claws digging in to his heart, pulled back. It spoke. A sad voice, blood pouring from its mouth. 

His hands first felt the change in reality. Pulled back his eyes opened and at once legs kicked out, thinking they stood on solid ground. He near slid right into the water if not for the rest of his capacities waking up. Recovering from his bumbling reaction, the Sniper sat still, looking around caverns mocking him in their silence. He needed a beer. Reaching down the sensation hit again; a brisk tug on his line. Not a bite, not a bump, a tug. With a hand. Or a tentacle. Now still he kept one hand on the grip of the rod whole the other slid down to the handle of his kukri. In front of his legs the water refracted, stirred by only his finishing wire. Yet, his eyes flicked to every shadow, view rising as he stood up. Lower and lower under the surface where the walls met a flow and arched down together to meet the shadows. Each shuffle of his feet brought closer until he dare go no more.

From his new height the water climbed down dissolving into darkness past the reach of his lantern. Normality settled over every stone until shattering at the bottom. A shape sprawled out resembling the unforgettable form of long snakes building into a circle. From the middle he knew the shadow grew up, ending in a pair of eyes staring back, their faint green glow staring up right into his own. His gut twisted, remembering the claws pinning him down, the bodies with their brains leaking into the water. All that power mere meters below him, hovering in its own element. The gaze hung, stuck in the thick tension. Then the creature turned, rising up as tentacles coiled under. Before garnering a reaction from the Sniper it sunk back down and disappeared through the tunnel, tentacles trailing behind before they too were consumed by the inky darkness.

Bloody hell. At least he still had he head, his chip. But for how long? Crawl up here and fight me. Glancing back to his chair the Sniper grumbled. So much for lazing about all afternoon. He sat and grabbed the pole, determined to fish and wring some form of relaxation out of the cool, calm cave. Any twitch from the line sent his skin crawling. Before leaving he checked the bottom again to see it in the corner. Cooking dinner inhis van he felt unsafe. A spy. Didn’t matter if it was half sea monster, the thing could get in here. Laying in his cot on his stomach he stared ahead at the blank wall. All a matter of when.

The next day he returned, this time a different cave. The opening proved problematic but he weaseled in and explored. Down meters of tunnels he found a new pool, this one under a ceiling three centimeters above. His shoulders ached from forcing himself through the thin tunnels. Only a small track of water reflected his torch back as a reward. It worried not with being shallow, instead appearing as a crack in the earth decided to be filled with water. No sign of the bottom. Yet the shape swam about at the end of his light. Other caves proved to be only dead ends to long falls and jagged rocks. Sore, he returned to his fishing spot where the thing hovered below as if to jeer at his search. At least his chair felt comfortable. 

Despite the unsteady ease of the week the Sniper managed a decent break. His creeping friend left him unable to sleep long. Nothing unnerved his mind then something so far out of his control. He understood the risks, like camping near a pride of lions. Except the lions he would understand, mingle and respect with rather than fear and worry about. As his urge to learn more grew the creature appeared less and less. At the end he drove back to the base, thoughts swelling, engulfing only one set of ideas: the monster. He ate in the cafeteria, used the facilities and helped his team push battle after battle but always the worry hung. Plans sprung to life as he sat in a nest waiting for a medic or soldier to run by his view. Perhaps lay a trap baited with food? Or hide out near that branching tunnel and wait for a sighting? Each were shot down as foolish and yet he went on coming up with piles more.

Seven days came and went with the Sniper performing just above average. On the first day he merely drifted, lost in thought .The second the plans came. Third he began thinking of how to take off time to go back. Fourth and fifth he decided to skip refitting his camper van for a longer chance in the caves. Final two days he packed up early, happy he was able to dedicate three solid days to hunt. Before leaving he restrung his bow and sharpened his several kukris. Clouds of dust rose then fades as he drove over that night, parking inside the cave opening.

As the sun set over barren plains and rolling deserts, the Sniper entered his old fishing spot with no intention to catch any sort of fish. His torch clicked on, illuminating the familiar surroundings. Walking up he pointed it in the water sending the pool a glow. No shape to greet him. He left a lantern a few meters from the shore. Such a rush, he had been waiting to try again all week and now he stood at the shore as if he had dashed the entire way here with out a care. Hesitation gripped his limbs. Foot steps circled the water. A bow slung over a shoulder with a quiver. On his belt his usually long, curved knife hanging next to another he thumbed. He had removed his vest and shirt, not wanting his clothes to snag as he swam through unknown tunnels. All those hours thinking of a plan of attack had born one key tactic. Cutting off one tentacle would never be enough. Now a well place strike. Covered by a custom leather sheathe a wooden kukri sat against his hip, a hand always near. Not a blade to cut but to bleed. A wound that would pour creating weakness. And a trail. On land or in water.

The water tingled, much colder at dusk than normal and it was not as if he went for a dip all the time. First passage he emerged, a hand on his weapon and the other brining the flashlight up. Each wall held up dripping ceiling, expanding out only to snake into a thin, dead end corridor then opening up in the other direction. A line set out before him. Having walked the passages before he took the same path towards the small chamber. Bodies limp, their stench filling the air, his legs stopped cold not wanting to enter. Controlling the cone of light he stood outside peeking in. first the corner, expecting it to be there, bleeding, wheezing, full of anger. Nothing. Not even bones left from a meal. Stooping under the entrance he searched the area. All seemed so far away from home and yet calm. If not for the fading blood stains in the dirt he would have loved it here.

A sound. Fish splashing in the pools, a lizard knocking a stone down an incline. The faint murmurs of life enjoying the gathered water in the middle of a desert. Not one scrape he could not recognize. No sign of his quarry. A sharp metal edge carved through bare stone as the Sniper continued, marking his way. Half of the tunnels he took left him staring at narrow goings a snake would have difficulty with. Risking another swim would be the death of him what with the building chill and being caught strangled in the thing’s element. Sometimes avoiding the pools proved to be a chore. Intense eyes watched the surface of each. An hour passed. Calloused feet used to rough terrain became sour at the dampness. All those cool afternoons checking the water to see it watching him. Another hour. He began to curse under his breath. Bloody wanker. Probably watching him right now, licking his lips. 

In his mine he had found the word ‘it’ being replaced by ‘he’. Deep under ground he chose a boulder to sit down for a rest and a drink. Nice place to live if you were a sea monster. Humid, secluded, a right maze. But unless large fish lived in a healthy volume some where below the menu might include the Sniper as well. As that popped into his head the torch he stuck upright between two rocks flickered. His chest answered, blood pumping fast, hairs standing on end. 

“Oy! Not now! Oi jus changed the batteries before Oi left!”

He fumbled with the long, steel flash fight, whacking it a few times. It shone fast but soon returned to blinking, the spaces between light growing further apart.

“Piss! Last toime Oi get batteries from that bloomin trekie!”

As he grumbled in his panic all went dark leaving him with an open canteen in one hand and a useless torch in the other. Disbelief crawled from his gut to his head. Getting lost in these caverns spoke death for many but he had marked the path. Problem was sight remained a crucial aspect in his plan to get back. Slumping, he went over every idea but nothing could comfort the cold fact that he was stuck here until sunrise. So far underground his only hope sat in the rays of light poking through enough to lead him back. Or he could ask his new special friend for some assistance. His hand reached down to the wooden blade, pulling it out.

Death always hung too close to him. He understood. But to give in and be dragged off into the water brought the weapon out in practice. The other was soon unsheathed. Let that Spy try to pin him down again. With nothing else to do until daytime, save for crawling around lost in the dark, the Sniper bedded down. Using the last memory of the area he curled up against the wall where it jutted out at a gradual angle before hitting the ceiling. Just in front his previous seat formed of a few sunken boulders sat as his only barrier should something larger than a tiny lizard decide to show up. Sleep was impossible. Just something to fane to pass the time. Appear asleep while knuckles tightened over two leather handles. Uncounted hours passed. With no way to tell time he figured when the moment felt right he would get up. But each driving minute left him doubting. The nearest cave entrance sat far away behind twists and turns and water. Perhaps he could move slowly, feeling for his marks and the slight climbing slope. Arms wrapping around his chest he physically shivered as temperatures dropped. 

His back nearly smashed against the rocks behind when a splash echoed though the still air. Unless a crocodile had become hopelessly lost he knew the maker with out a doubt. Eyes closed to perfect his guise he waited. Odd sounds, one he could only attribute to an octopus walking on land. A large one. It halted just before passing his position. Fool. Being so noisy.

“Monsieur, are you alright?”

In contrast to the snarling shouts from before, the voice sounded so nonchalant the Sniper had to turn to check to make sure an actual Spy from his team had not just found him laying here. Only darkness looked back. 

“Uh, Hello?”

“Yes. ‘Allo. Any reason why you are laying ‘alf naked on zhe ground?”

Confused, the Sniper sat up, a kukri clutched in each hand staying low but prepared. Nothing came out of the shadows to grab him.

“Who’re you?”

“I zhink you know.”

He swallowed hard. The creature, he was right in front of him. He could hear the tentacles squirming around just ahead. 

“What’re yeh doing here?”

The voice shifted, circling.

“My you are a dense one. I live ‘ere.”

“No. Oi mean. Here. Just walkin up to me.”

Though he could not see them, the Sniper could vividly imagine fangs as a chuckle echoed.

“Well, bushman. Eet is past midnight and I look and see a Sniper lost in zhe caverns.”

“Oi ain’t lost.”

“Trouble weeth your flashlight, per’aps?”

“Why would you care?”

“You are shivering.”

Tentacles began slithering around his legs and arms from all angles. A yell and a warning from his weapon sent them back but now the Sniper crouched, ready for any more tricks. His long canines clicked against his lower jaw from his obvious chill induced tremors.

“I see. I would love to leave, but I do not zhink I am able to.”

“Oi don’t need yer help.”

Silence between the two escalated as much as the tension. The Sniper knew help may as well have meant help himself to dinner. It was going to be a long night. After a long moment the Spy replied but his voice seemed slow, sad.

“‘Ave I ever done anything to ‘urt you?”

All those memories he had of the creature at the bottom of a pool, staring up, or the injured animal crawling against the ground, begging him to stay away.

“N-no.”

“Yet ‘ere you are about to slice one of my arms off.”

The Sniper didn’t answer, not wanting to play these games. Self defense was his only focus at the moment.

“I zhink you need to relax.”

One of those devilish limbs snaked in and before he could react it had fastened itself to the flat of his metal blade. His other moved to sever the thing but a different appendage clutched his wrists, holding it until the tentacle pulled his kukri away and he sat left with only his final now held with two hands ready to gut anything else that dare come near.

“Eef I wanted you dead I would have keeled you ‘ours ago.”

“Bloody hell! Just do it already.”

“Why?” The Sniper could hear claws feeling up his own weapon, the same that wrapped around his wrist. “Are you zhat eager to die?”

“Why else would yah even be here?”

Another pause. The churning sounds from all around pulled back.

“You keep watching me. In zhe water. But you never shoot or call anyone.”

“So? Wot was Oi supposed to do? Dive in and wrassle with yah?”

“Your base. Eet ees just down zhe road from zhat laboratory, non? Quite a nice chunk of cash.”

“Yeah, cause imma sell yah to some lab. Oi got enough money.”

“Zhen why ARE you ‘ere?”

For once the Sniper now lay silent. In all of his fear and anger he hoped he didn’t have to kill the spy, unless he was attacked first. Or was he? At the moment he couldn’t recall. All those days wanting to come back and search. He sighed.

“Oi don’t know.”

“Well I know why I am ‘ere. To talk. ‘Ow does that sound to you?”

“Talk about wot?”

“You tell me, monsieur climb down ‘ere ‘alf naked with a bow and a knife.”

Sighing again, the Sniper felt foolish being caught down here like this. “Yeah. Foine. Oi was lookin fer yah.”

“You found me.”

“So why do you live here? Didn’t enjoy the river?”

The Spy laughed, his tone much more cheery. “Zhe river is two ‘ours away on foot. And impossible by tentacle.”

“Eh. Good point.”

“And you come ‘ere to feesh?”

A scoff. “Yeah. Before you showed up.”

“Oh I was ‘ere long before you found zhis place.”

Still shivering, The Sniper curled up as best he could. In response the Spy brought his appendages closer, hovering just inches away. Jerking back he showed his acceptance by positioning the tip of his blade where he thought the Spy’s head hung. 

“Stay. Back.”

Whatever anger he had brought up for his eyes to reflect the Spy must have seen it because he pulled his form away.

“I can give eet back. Eef zhat weel ‘elp you calm down.”

“Yah. Oi’d loike that.”

“You really do not need eet. I ‘ave no reason to ‘urt you.”

“Sure. Oi’ll keep that in mind yah scary squid thing.”

“Are you afraid?”

The sudden question reminded him of his fast beating heart and quickened breath since the Spy showed up. Yet thinking about it his fear came more from what he had seen in the cave above than what was happening now. The rash, fang bared monster and its handy work, he saw that creature in front of him always about to pry open his rib cage at the first sign of weakness. He debated his answer. A yes would give the Spy a false sense of security but a no may make him think was either lying or going along with his “no ‘arm you” game. As he thought a growing light distracted him. A bright shade of green it began low. He stared, thinking it to be a trick of having been under blackness for hours.

“’Ere take eet.”

His kukri appeared first held in a gloved hand. Fabric lay torn where claws had cleaved each finger end open. Two tentacles coiled around the upper arm, their growing bulk disappearing into the shadows. The tips poked at the kukri but pulled back, hiding behind the wrist. The Sniper followed the arm up to a pair of glowing eyes turned partially away from him, their gaze falling on his knife. The Spy wore his full suit at least up until the waist, where human was swallowed up by his other aspects. He reached out further, but slowly, with his offering.

“How, how’re you even doing that?”

Comfort rose in him. No longer seeing a demon looming over him he saw someone like his own Spy and thankfully not as cocky. He didn’t even reach for his weapon.

“Mmm.” Pupils flicked over to him and the Sniper saw that each eye could indeed produce light. “Eet used to’appen randomly. Zhen I learned to control it.”

“Heh. Yeah. If Oi was a spoi, Oi wouldn’t want to glow.”

Taking his weapon the Sniper crossed his legs, sitting flat for the first time since his guest’s appearance.

“You said spy. Not ‘scary squid zhing’.”

“Yeah. And that doesn’t make yah any less dangerous.”

The faint light source revealed little. The Sniper forced his eyes to gleam the soft reflections and dim outlines. Interest always hung, over his fear over his concern. Even as he held both his knives between him and the twisting tentacles his focus lay on the body before him. Suit tattered, the Spy still wore it with pride, the blue color faded. Both sleeves were frayed along with the bottom. That was where he stared, where a battered jacket faded away to slick skin that branched out into eight bundles of muscle and flexibility. Yet the top human torso looked just like the pikers that gutted him from behind. The shivering over took his voice.

“S,spy or s,sea m,monster, doesn’t m,matter.”

He held his kukri forward, raising it to threaten a strike. His gesture caused tentacles to curl up under the creature, shoulders slumping as he averted eye contact which dulled the light. Every time the Spy blinked darkness took over only to be banished just enough to see. 

“I could wear any uniform. Eet would not matter. For comfort I choose zhe trappings of my old job.” His form slinked away, brining the glow with it which faded back to its original blackness. Air exhaled to release a sigh but the sound hissed through teeth like the growl. “Zhere is nozhing I could say zhat would make you believe I am ‘armless.”

“Harmless??” The Sniper sat up, near laughing. “You butchered me teammates. Killed them. Permanently. Noice little trick yah got, tearin’ the chip out.” Fighting through his chilled body he spoke clear. With a scoff he spat on the ground. “Bloody angel of kindness you are.”

Though he could not see the creature any more, the Sniper could still follow the sound as it moved farther away. Backed against the wall he waited for a strike, an ambush. Only a soft, trembling response met his tense muscles.

“Zhey came at night. Zhinking I was asleep. No questions asked, just bullets fired once zhey had a line of sight. Disgusting brutes forzing zheir way in.” Light flickered, small dots a few meters away. After a brief moment they died. “Zhey wounded me and jeered, kicking me down an incline.” Through the cold air the Sniper heard a faint whine. “What would you do?”

Only seeing the bodies, the Sniper never asked why the two had came here, other than to catch the Spy. A myriad of questions flooded his head. How did a Spy become half squid, why was he even here, who did this to him and the crushing realization of being stuck like that forever.

“Coulda sent em back to respawn.”

“Zhey come back. Zhey always come back.”

The Sniper sat in silence, realizing the damage of his remarks. Of he was hunted and trapped, he’d fight. Now that he was here, in front of his quarry, he felt confused. Days of thinking of ways to find him but not one thought on how he got here.

“Yer an experiment.”

More a statement than a question. He dropped his guard in favor of rubbing his chest for warmth.

“And ’ow long deed eet take you to come up with zhat?”

“Foine. Be a wanka. Yer down here, hidin’ out, being a monster. Jus kill me already then. You coulda done that for weeks.”

No answer. He tensed at the lack of sound he felt so comfortable with hours before. Shivering took hold of him again.

“Bloody piker, yer just watching me huh? Oi found yah now yer tryin to foind a way to use me. Typical spah.”

Light returned and the sniper saw that the Spy had crawled some distance away but was now in the process of returning. He lifted his knife but the creature stopped a meter or so from his little hovel. Eyes did not avoid contact. He stared at the glowing green circles as tentacles reared up, wrapping around the Spy’s arms and torso. 

“Do you really want to keel me?”

Back staring at the odd creature, the Sniper once again became lost in a sea of questions. He could stab out, gut a nice wound that would bleed for hours. And if he ran he could follow the blood, bow ready.

“Depends. Do you wanna kill me? 

“Non. Never. You came and feeshed. You never attacked.”

“So then you decided to pin me down, knock me silly against a wall.”

The tentacles tightened further around other limbs. Features slumped further, eyes to the floor. 

“Not every day I am eating and a Sniper comes falling from above. I am sorry eef I urt you.”

A snort. “D,doesn’t matter n,n,now. Yah bloody g,g,got me. Hate to ad,dmit it but Oi’m f,f,freezing, hungry and p,puckered out. So yah got yer wish.”

“I made no such wish.”

“Hmph.”

Sick of shivering for hours, the Sniper curled up on the ground, kurkis still in hand but now much more open to attack. He went though the scenarios. Sure, a cut here, leaving a bleeding wound. Then his face is ripped open. He recalled the creature before in the other cave, bleeding, countless injuries. Yet here it sat healed. He didn’t have a chance.

“I can take you back.”

“W,wot? Yeah. L,let,t me jus h.h.and over m,me knoives. Y,y,ah can take me t,to a hotel.”

He felt the expected prodding of tentacles near his body, some coiling around his legs.

“Non, non. You are shaking. Please let me ‘elp you.”

A kick in reaction to the first touch. Then acceptance. Despite being wet the suckers felt warm and a blessing to cold skin. The bundles of muscles wrapped there way about him, soothing trembling limbs. He closed his eyes as they covered him like a blanket, clutching his knives closer. Once they reached his head he rose, sheathing one. Tentacles helped him up and brought new warmth, suckers attaching only to release, afraid to cling too hard.

“You always covered in slime?”

The Sniper’s voice had recovered. Attention now turned to the proposed task at hand. He grumbled at being wrapped but welcomed the heat.

“Would you prefer my claws?”

“Roight. Jus feels off.”

After a stretch he brought his free hand up to stroke one slung loosely around his neck. It rose to his touch, the slippery skin contacting his palm. What an odd texture, so fragile yet he knew the power of pure muscle under the dark surface. He turned it flipping it over, the end coiling around his fingers. Tiny suckers clung while the larger contracted, only to open at his touch. The thought of them all around his body left him disgusted if not for the situation he found himself in. 

“So how’re we doing this? Can you see in the dark?”

“Oui. Among ozher zhings.”

As he struggled to his feet he felt the limbs round him stunt his progress. A glare turned toward the glowing green eyes.

“Non. Do not stand. I can take you to your feeshing pool through zhe water. Eet ees faster. And a bit warmer.”

The thought of going into water caused the Sniper’s skin to crawl, much more than from the tentacles.

“A bit warmer? You gotta be bloomin jokin. “

“You will see. Crawl over ‘ere to zhe water.”

“Ugh. Foine.” Seeing the end of this venture the Sniper sheathed his final kukri and began crawling with the aid of the tentacles. “Yah could have at least had the courtesy to kill me here.”

While most tentacles were allocated to help the Sniper, others helped propel the Spy forward in a slow dragging motion. His claws dug into the ground to give leverage as they pulled him forward with some difficulty. Soon they reached the water, the Spy silent as he helped the Sniper in. He shook violently as he entered the cold liquid. All comfort of land was stolen as his hands were dragged from their hold. He floated in open water now, wrapped in a gentle embrace. Teeth chattering he stared with anger.

“We are almost zhere. ‘Old your breath.”

“B,b,bloody h,hell.”

Not willing, he took a lung full understanding it to be his last. Speed increased, faster than any velocity both could manage on land. In the near dark the Sniper had little concept of where they were traveling but wall after tunnel slipped by in a near instant. His head soon broke surface, allowing breathing once more. 

“Zhere. Feel better?”

From the faint green light the Sniper saw he now floated in a small air pocket about the size of an over turned bathtub. Cracks spread out leading to hopefully more air. Rocks hung above, their outlines painted in the soft glow. His shivering had stopped. Gentle warmth surrounded him, yet not from the tentacles which still clung. The water here had to be at least 20 degrees hotter, a wonderful reprise to frozen bones. All around the wall held the unmistakable marks of green algae, clinging plant matter and other life.

“Where, where is this? Why’s it so warm?”

“We are between tunnels. You would not know.” Circling, the Spy let the Sniper swim on his own aside from a few tentacles unable to resist caressing. “Zhe water ees so nice because of a volcanic vent far below.”

“Huh. Well thanks.”

A nod of the head, then eyes looking away.

“When you are ready I will take you to your van.” 

“Yer serious, huh?”

“Why would I not be?”

The Sniper scratched the back of his head. For the first time today he accepted that he would get back. A smile cracked on his worn face but a nagging fear swept it away.

“And wot happens after?”

The light touch of the tentacles left the Sniper twitching but oh the glorious feeling of warmth returning to his points, the temperature cradling him all around. Still weary he propped himself up against a wall not minding the circling creature.

“You can return to feeshing.”

“And you?”

Water rippled as if a small stone had been tossed despite the obvious half Spy diving. All went dark. He returned along with the light after a few moments.

“I weel promise not to bother you. Zhat ees eef the promise of a ‘spy’ means anyzhing to you.”

“Wot? Loike forever? But-“

He caught himself under the confused gaze of the Spy who floated closer, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh well. Oi loike talking to yah. Maybe we can meet again.”

All tentacles around him pulled back. For the first time he saw teeth bared in anger.

“And why do you want to talk to me?”

“No need to git angry, mate! Yer bloomin half squid! Oi got so many questions. Animals are kinda moi hobby and-” 

“I am not an animal.”

Suddenly the tiny, warmth giving cave felt as a stifling tomb.

“No no! I didn’t mean it loike that. Look yer in a roight mess Oi can see that. But Oi mean.” He paused, not sure what to say to the sea monster he just insulted. “Oi came down here tah see yah and all.”

Before him the Spy seemed to be pacing, long body swaying one directing then the other, suckers picking at rocks below. He turned suddenly to stare the Sniper down under an intense gaze, teeth still threatening before lips muzzled them back. 

“When you are fishing. I will come. And we can talk. Eef zhat ees what you wish.”

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.”

Another smile formed as he looked at the broken thing in front of him. Maybe he could bring food or a gift, something to help. Even though he clung to a wall only a few meters away from the Spy, excitement built up at the prospect of speaking with him again. 

“Alroight. Oi’m ready. You can take me back.”

The tentacles reconvened around him. Another speedy journey through twisting passages. As soon as when the Sniper felt the stinging urge for oxygen he was brought up to an air pocket. After three he felt the familiar touch of his gear on land. The shivering had returned but he ignored it being so close to home. Tentacles remained around his bare features until he found the lantern he left near his supplies. Using a near by lighter he brought a strong glow back into his power again. However when he turned to thank his guide he found little trace other than a trail of water. The surface of the pool still held the ripple of the Spy’s return but not a tentacle in sight.

“Uh, spook?”

Droplets fell from the ceiling, mixing with the large waves. Then all fell still. The Sniper, lantern in hand, crept up to the shore as he had hours before to look into the depths. Once again a shadow spread out along to bottom at the mere edge of his light. Two green orbs looked up.

“Thanks!”

He waved in an exaggerated gesture and grinned when the Spy did the same. He remained until the shadows shifted then disappeared at the back of the pool.


	8. Chapter 8

Such allowance. Perhaps out of a need. He brought a tentacle up to wrap around another, their suckers teasing each other before releasing. Did that really just happen? It had been years since he touched flesh not trembling, giving limbs letting him escort to the water. Perchance a fool had came into his lair. Who wanders around with just a knife and a flashlight? A hunter like him would be much more prepared, much more ready and willing to fight back. 

He chuckled, floating on his back. The hole over head provided not only sun but a view of a few stars twinkling through. To come down here unarmed confused him. A weakness held aloft yet so close to his heart, perhaps the man knew. Perhaps he knew all too well of the pain of living down here. Or…

Climbs around ill prepared, no weapon but a kukri, no food, no traps, no swimming gear. No. He’s a fool. Body meeting a large flat rock in the pool the Spy stretched out on it, tentacles coiled up upon him. They tightened out of need, suckers clinging to one want that the Spy knew all too well. Such promise all wasted on silly thoughts. A fool. A handsome little fool.

Sliding off the platform he dove down. A moment ago tender claws undid his ragged tie, tailored jacket and water logged mask. They now hung on the wall of an air pocket several meters below. Water glided with his bare form as he darted seemingly with out effort through the pool. Tunnels braced and twisted, a dance played by currents long ago carving, forming, shaping. Even now they were at work. He drifted along each, feeling the flow of energy, a flexible limb extending to wrap around the smooth bundle of force then trail away after grasping nothing. The want grew. A long sigh let cool water pass through his gills and out the flaps under his ribs. The liquid filled inhuman passages, fimbrea expanding to receive oxygen. Spinning he let his velocity decay until he sunk to the bottom.

He recalled the bushman’s face when his own body lay twisted with blood. Terror. The same terror as his victims displayed, their faces contorting in the end, eyes unable to look into his. Monster. To see the Sniper lying in the caverns, shivering, brought him back to that memory. The monster had been seen and the hand around the handle of the kukri reflected the cold fact that it now lurked near. At first he pulled away, thinking of simply leaving, hiding in the water to listen to when the bushman gave up and left. Yet he lingered, unable to drag himself away. Head poking out of the water he watched the man curl up, naked from the waist up, and attempt to sleep in the dark. To approach, purposely being loud to catch his attention, would have been enough. But he spoke. His tentacles tingled at every word the Sniper said. In the dark they slithered forward to procure a soft inch of flesh. He panicked, keeping his voice steady as he tethered them to his own body, letting them suckle on ragged clothes.

Cool skin, matching the gentle waters. From the memory of just the day before his tentacles coiled around each other. Thick and needy, muscles twisted in on each other. No, he had to resist. Nerves danced against the surface while others churned deep inside. Higher the bundles of flesh climbed, suckers contracted on his waste line before wrapping around, always moving. He shut his eyes, trying to deny. That near naked body, so close, so warm. Body hair thick, reeking of sweat and hormones. He released some of his own. Even underwater he felt the thick slime form and dissipate into current. Each tentacle secreted its own share, designed for a longing embrace. Gill membranes flared under searching touches. Though he pushed the images away his body still engorged. Blood flowed into his tentacles causing them to swell.

Under slime and pampering snakes of muscle, his chest shuddered. Water expelled out in a stream from gill openings in an invitation for suckers to probe higher. His instincts longed to coil flesh around a body and hold it against his own. To mark another with his scent and be marked in return. The mere moment he gave into that fantasy his tentacles swelled further. Suckers puffed and reached out to latch onto the only offering. The Spy’s back flexed from the culmination of lust swelling against his body. With out direction the limbs sought out his most tender areas. Now unleashed they scrambled past his waist, Thinner tips coiled around gill openings, the large girth rising to cling around a gasping neck. 

He gave in to the pleasure, allowing thoughts to swell upon the image of his new acquaintance. It had to be a bushman. Even in the water he could still smell him. A Spy controlled the situation. What ever fear or pain or emotion threatened to snatch the reins away he had to master quickly like a trust of his blade. Nearly two decades spent in another body left him broken on principle and pride. This felt no different. In a way he near enjoyed the experience. Muscles conquered every area now. Not one but eight limps to pleasure. The tentacles wrapped around each other, pumping in a rhythm. Suction cups kissed the webbing between his fingers with one slithering over the face. Eyes closed, he wished for lips against his smooth flesh with rough stubble finishing the pampering. 

Twisting in on himself, his writhing from sunk to the bottom where he gave a shuddering breath. The first time he recalled not knowing what release would mean, or what to even stimulate. Every tentacle became sensitive. Instead of a few points of responsive skin his entire form felt in need of contact. Now at the bed of the underwater cave he regretted not indulging more often. A full crescendo of sensations began at the end of each tentacle, growing until each nerve reacted with rattling gratification. The stunning effect left him


End file.
